Of Plans And Wishes
by Aspen Snow
Summary: He wishes, irrationally, that they had met under different circumstances...MichaelSara


He wishes irrationally that they had met under different circumstances.

But that─ the wishes the _what ifs_─ is a dangerous train of thought. Dangerous and ridiculous because he didn't actually ever _meet_ her. He studied her, cut out accomplishments and articles and grainy photos from newspapers.

He didn't meet her in that accidental way people do at bars and coffee shops and restaurants and anywhere else besides prison. He met her because he _had _to.

The first time he actually physically mether, shook her hand and _saw_ her face, he flirted shamelessly with her in a way that was not all genuine and every bit practiced, _studied_.

And that first time she smiled, a curiously surprised quirk of lips, he found himself wishing that he was just a man with a penchant for the same clichéd motivational quotes as her. He found himself wishing that he hadn't spent the past year with her photo on his wall, her name on his mind.

He wished that he hadn't already slated her as a means to end.

But these were irrational wishes, dangerous in their nature. They were counterproductive to the wish that actually got him here in the first place. Because he had a wish to see his brother exonerated, to not see him _die_.

And she, well, what was she but the flesh and blood realization of a women he already _knew._ Who was she but the daughter of a governor who wanted his brother _dead_, maybe even wished for it.

He had a plan. A plan that he had carefully plotted and researched and detailed and studied and practiced and _memorized_. He had memorized _all _the parts. He could point to anyone, _anyone_, and recite their role.

_He_ is the money.

_He_ is the transportation.

_He _is the labor.

_He_ is expendable.

_She_ is the key. Her with her governor for a dad who would do anything, _anything, _to save his daughter. Her and her infirmary with its weak walls weak defenses weak _everything_. All he needed from _her_ was for her to like him enough to not be quite so cautious in his presence. All he needed was for her to like him _enough_ to not care that something was just maybe a little bit wrong about him.

What his plan had not counted on, however, was him liking her _back_. He hadn't expected her picture pretty hair and eyes to be quite so pretty in person. He hadn't expected her hands to be so _soft_.

He had expected the blood the pain the hate the _filth _the never-ending sense of terror and confinement. But he hadn't expected to wish for things he had no right─ _no right_ ─wishing for.

Because who was _he_ besides the painfully inked hero of a sick twisted _unjust_ story. Who was he but the brother of man who was going to _die._

Would die unless he did something anything _everything _to stop it.

There were so many things, too many things his seamlessly constructed plan had _not_, could not possibly have, accounted for. There were racial wars, missing toes, transfers and _not_ transfers, psychotic cell mates, and child molesters with revenge on the mind.

But of all these he thinks that maybe─ _probably ─_ the one unaccounted for variable that could _will_ hurt him the most is her. Because there he is fighting off _killing_ prisoners _people_ for her. And he had told himself before he got here that he would do anything necessary to save his brother, anything but _that_. But he's done it and he can't take it _back_ and she's there looking at him for all the world like he's some sort of hero.

Like he _saved_ herAnd he thinks this is all so _wrong_. He was supposedto be saving his brother not her. Not her the pretty doctor who he had never, _never_ planned on liking and always, _always_ planned on using. And then she's running for the door and he's hitting the floor, dodging bullets and blood in more danger of dying_ now_ than he has been since he stepped foot into this prison. And though his fingers are splayed across cold linoleum and he's dragging himself across dead bodies all he can think about is fifty cent beers and warm beaches in far off places.

He wonders if he's fucked everything up.

Because his plan had been all about the _getting out _and he never thought he would wish, if even just for a second, for a reason to _stay._


End file.
